A call to arms spread like a wild forest fire within the Moshil region. Anyone keeping up with recent developments saw this coming and wasn’t too surprised. Gavin, too, received a messenger on a horse bearing the order. Since he had no army to spare, he wasn’t ordered to lead an army and head to Crisuri. Meanwhile, the messenger had a separate message for Ansel, ordering him to come to the city. Neither Gavin nor he was surprised to see the separate order. The duo remained silent for a brief moment in Gavin’s office.

  “I am going to pack my stuff now,” Ansel spoke nonchalantly, breaking the uneasy silence. “Nothing changes for you.”

  True, for Gavin, it was going to be business as usual, bar his absence. He said not a word regardless. Packing was easy for Ansel since he barely had any personal belongings. In fact, the alicorn and the world map were the only stuff he needed to grab. The guest room he had been occupying for almost five months had nothing else that he could call his. He did have a horse as well, which was Gadric’s originally. Selena must have picked up the weird air as Ansel prepared for his departure and rushed to see him when he was tying the covered alicorn onto his horse.

  “When are you coming back?” she asked innocently regardless.

  For once, he felt uncomfortable to answer. “I am not coming back.”

  “You are not coming back? Didn’t the count summon you?”

  He was a bit surprised that she found out this fast. But she was the head maid and must have been experienced enough. Her title of the head maid was a bit of a stretch since she commanded only two maids. But, in due time, they would hire more maids in the near future. With Isabel expecting birth, a total of three maids wasn’t going to be enough for the manor of this size.

  “He has.”

  “And you are not coming back?”

  He remained silent, unsure of what or how to tell her. It was so much easier to leave his own family behind.

  “I….”

  He tried to say something but just couldn’t because there was a limit on how much he could tell her. At one point, she dashed toward him and gave him a deep hug. The height difference meant that his face was buried in her chest.

  “I am going to miss you,” she told him softly. “You are like a brother I never had.”

  He felt something hot hitting his face, like smelting air rising upwards.

  “I will not forget you,” he told her in a muffled voice.

  “Hold on for a sec. I am going to get you something.”

  She ran back in and came out with something that was the size of a picnic basket. It was covered with linen cloth.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s a block of cheese. I know how dull the food can be. Some pieces of cheese can really liven up your tongue.”

  He immediately understood why he occasionally saw pieces of cheese on his dishes. It was her who was specifically giving it to him.

  “I, uh, thank you.”

  She held his hands tight with tearful eyes.

  “Be strong.”

  “Yes…”

  Gavin was at the main entrance with a solemn face. Giving him a subtle nod, he got on his horse and looked at them for the last time.

  “Farewell,” he said, to which Selena responded with a wave and Gavin responded with a nod. He wasn’t going to tell Finnic and the others. They would find out eventually one way or the other. Taking a deep breath and looking up at the sky, he tightened his thighs which gave a signal to his horse to move forward.

  So, this is what it feels like leaving a family behind…

  “Heeyah!”

  The horse began to gallop, leaving the Durrell manor behind. It did pain him to leave everything behind. But, just like Gavin’s specific phase of life was over, so was his. It was finally time to start working for himself and beyond. If you asked a commoner why this war had to happen, he would very likely shrug off without giving you an answer because he wouldn’t understand why it had to occur. Now, if you asked a noble why this war had to happen, his answer was probably going to vary. It’d depend on whose side you asked. Count Tristan Rassier had a justification to bring forth this conflict even if it looked like an overreaction. Here was the issue however. Even if it was an overreaction, a noble had to voice for what was questionably his. Otherwise, people would forget that he had such a right. His ancestors had the title of margrave, and he had to remind people. If not, people would forget that his lineage had such a title with the passage of time.

  “..............”

  Strictly on paper, the count’s decision to order the call-to-arms seemed reckless, even borderline suicidal. But he wouldn’t have started this if he wasn’t confident enough to at least tie. He was going to find out soon enough once he joined his court and probably war room.

  Since time was of essence, he took a short cut, ignoring the dirt road heading to Veka and heading directly toward Crisuri. It looked like he wasn’t the only one taking the shortcut because he saw an unofficial path that seemed to have been used by both horses as well as charts. Before the unification, all commodities had to pass through Veka. It was no longer required anymore. In fact, from what he heard, the city was being progressively isolated. The lack of merchant flows into the city would increase prices of everything there with ultimately food prices rising up. The local populace would start to leave if already leaving. Many might have been the writing on the wall. Give it several years, and the count would probably downgrade the city to a town.

  “None of my business,” he whispered as his horse galloped across relatively flat and grassy terrain. In two days, he saw what was once Fort Mow. The fortress had been more or less dismantled, but it looked like the count took his idea to heart because he was seeing a small settlement being developed at the site.

  “Finnic could have been in charge of that settlement… What a waste of opportunity,” he said to himself.

  But the man said that he wasn’t fit for the job. For once, he was right. He would have likely failed to live up to expectations set by the count.

  “Speaking of which…, his family… will he side with the royals or the count? It’s probably the former…, right?”

  He had no idea where the house Burendo was located. Yes, Finnic’s full name was Finnic Burendo and the Burendo was a viscount somewhere in the kingdom. Finnic did tell Ansel that he was on very bad terms with his house but wasn’t kicked out, which was going to cause an issue if his family sided with the royals. Whatever the case, he’d need to make a decision soon.

  Passing by the settlement, he could see that people were reusing the stones they obtained from dismantling the former fortress for constructing foundations of new buildings. He made a mental note of that.

  “Yeah, why didn’t I think of that before…,” he mumbled. When it came to buildings, all he thought was just four wooden posts and then built walls around it. He never thought about foundations. He actually wanted to stop by and learn some architecture, but time was of essence.

  “Perhaps another time.”

  Galloping past the settlement, he headed toward Crisuri. He would arrive there in another two days with minimal rest at night. He had no tent and slept with his horse for warmth during chilly nights, meaning it was fairly important for them to build trust over time. Every nobleman had at least one dedicated horse which they could count upon and vice versa.

  “Oh, my.”

  When he was finally close to the city, he saw endless rows of tents a short distance away from the western city gate. Apparently, soldiers were gathering and they needed a temporary place to stay. Men clad in leather armors were roaming about, looking mighty bored and yawning constantly. When Ansel passed them by and approached the city gate, a pair of guards shot a piercing glance at him.

  “Who are you? A child?”

  They were on high alert as expected from the call-to-arms order as well as having so many unsavory men wandering about nearby.

  “My name is Ansel Asvete. I have answered the count’s call-to-arms,” he spoke politely. He had a last name which wasn’t something a commoner had. Therefore, the guards mistook him as a son of a noble house and reacted accordingly. One of the guards bowed to him.

  “Sir Asvete, our apologies. Please enter.”

  They were apparently too alert to leave their posts to check on the validity of Ansel’s identity. And, since he looked mostly harmless, they were going to skip the process and just let him in.

  “I thank you,” replied Ansel with a professional grin, reinforcing their belief that they made the right call to just let him in. And he let his horse walk forward slowly, passing by the gate without any trouble. Crisuri was the capital city of the southern region. It used to compete with Veka but the competition was no more for obvious reasons. He was here once with Gadric but this would be his first time actually seeing the innards of the city.

  “Oh…, so this is what a proper city looks like…”

  Fancy cobblestone roads, proper buildings for vendors unlike crude makeshift tents, and, most importantly, an organized layout came to his view. The streets were fairly busy with activities with people, presumably commoners, casually shopping around. Vending buildings had a very large opening in front which allowed direct communications without having to enter each individual shop. Ansel had never seen anything like this although his experience was very much lacking. While he served Gavin, he never entered Crisuri, let alone any large city.

  “Well…, let’s check in first before admiring the view and all,” he said to himself. He wasn’t the only one on the horse, and people were used to horses clearly. None of them stood right in front of horses and dared touching them. In other words, they knew what to do not to freak horses out. A loose horse on a busy street like this could easily kill a few people in the worst case. Finding the Rassier manor was an easy task meanwhile. The road he was on, he just had to keep on moving forward until he passed a few districts and a familiar gate came into his view. It was the same gate Gadric and he saw when teleported to the city. This time, however, there was more than a pair of guards. A man who was clad in plate armor was present. He was most likely a knight or even higher ranked person. He fired a fierce glare at him as he approached the gate on a horse.

  “Who are you?” he demanded. Getting down from the horse, Ansel introduced himself politely, undeterred.

  “My name is Ansel Asvete. I am answering the count’s call-to-arms order.”

  “Ansel Asvete? The Asvete? No noble house by that name serves the count. Again, who are you?”

  “I am a mage.”

  The man’s stiff expression changed at once, easing up slightly. Beckoning one of the guards over, he told him.

  “You over there. Go inside quickly and check with the page. See whether this mage is on the list.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Ansel narrowed his eyes. They apparently had a list of mages, meaning the count had more than one, probably several, mages. The soldier, clad in leather armor, gave him a firm nod and dashed inside. He came back out in a minute.

  “Sir, the name is on the list.”

  Only then the knight’s face loosened up completely.

  “Master Asvete, the count awaits you, sir,” he told Ansel politely while lowering his upper body slightly.

  “I thank you. May I entrust my horse to you, sir?”

  “Certainly. We will have a room ready for you as well. Your stuff will be there safe and sound.”

  “Thank you.”

  His small physique meant not a thing since he was a mage. Mages were known as weapons of mass destruction. They were the deciders of wars. Therefore, when it came to mages, only abilities mattered. Neither gender nor age played any part. Once past the gate and inside the main lobby of the Rassier manor, a boy of his age in a rather fancy robe appeared in front of him.

  “Ansel Asvete, I assume?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your room is being prepared. Meanwhile, the count wishes to see you, sir.”

  “Lead the way.”

  He was led to the same court room he was in once before. The count, Tristan Rassier, sat in his slightly elevated throne with his legs crossed with the mage standing right next to him.

  “You continue to surprise me, Asvete.”

  “I do?” He had a hunch about what he was implying but played a fool.

  “Yes, you do. You made a big stink about not wanting to work under me the last time. Yet, here you are, coming here with just a simple letter.”

  The count began to tap his index finger on the side arm of his throne slowly while donning a stoic expression on his face. It sounded like he did not expect Ansel to appear in front of him this easily.

  “Count, I’ve stated that we are on the same boat. Of course, I would work for you under an extreme circumstance like this.”

  “What I dislike the most about you is that you aren’t fucking wrong.”

  “You flatter me.”

  Tristan scoffed and asked, “So, what elemental do you command?”

  “I am a voidkin, count.”

  “A voidkin? What is that?”

  The mage next to him took a step back with a shell-shocked face.

  “A mage destroyer…,” he mumbled, fear clearly embedded in his shaky voice.

  “A mage destroyer? Explain, what is a voidkin?”

  Ansel waited for the mage to explain, but he did not. Thus, he explained instead before count’s thin patience ran out.

  “I absorb any magic thrown at me, healing included. Magic in general will not have any effect on me, fireballs included. And, if I touch a mage, he or she will be done for. I will drain their magic like a drunkard emptying his booze bottle in a blink of an eye.”

  The count blinked his eyes for a very brief moment with an amused face. Then a tip of his lips curved into a crooked grin.

  “So, you will be the perfect man for the job.”

  On paper, the count was lacking in magicians. If he were to employ a voidkin to thin down the number of mages in the opposition…, then his chance would shoot up.

  “What do you desire in return? The title of a grand sage?” His crooked grin looked empowered. He may have been imagining himself in the king’s throne.

  “I do not know yet. However, may I dare request a landed title?”

  There was no need for Tristan to know Ansel’s true intention yet. It was too early to make such demands. For the time being, he had to play along and earn achievements.

  “A mage wants a landed title? That’s pretty rare, isn’t it?”

  Like Gadric told Ansel before, mages tended to have pupils to carry on their last names instead of having biological children. They had pride in their last names and they hated to see their names being dragged into mud by those incapable. Since biological children were not guaranteed to be born mages, they chose a more sure way to secure their names.

  “Yes, but I do desire that.”

  “I don’t see a problem at all anyway. I never really understood the way mages think, so what do you want? Baron, viscount, or even count?”

  “It’s too early to tell, isn’t it? For all I know, you’ve simply demanded the title of duke.”

  If the count simply wanted the title of duke, he wouldn’t have any spare fiefs to grant him a title to go with although he could find a small piece of land to grant the title of baron. It appeared as if the count was certain that he would earn extra lands from this conflict, meaning his aim was very much more than just a fancy title. This was pretty much an open secret by this point.

  “You do know what I desire, don’t you?”

  Ansel hesitated to give a verbal answer. Instead, he gave him a subtle nod. There was a brief moment of uneasy silence.

  “Bring me the map of Froque,” the count told the mage.

  “I already have it here.” He pulled out a small scrolled leather parchment from his belt.

  “Toss it to him.”

  And the mage did exactly that. He wouldn’t have wanted to approach Ansel anyway since he was a voidkin. He picked it up and unfolded it.

  The count explained, “The Froque region is directly north of us. The Wanes have sided with us. The Benas sided with the Grimhill.”

  Ansel’s eyes darted around, trying to study the map as quickly as possible.

  “Will you grant me an army to lead?”

  Tristan blinked his eyes in amusement, and his mage looked equally shocked. A mage never led an army. They were always an assistant to an army leader. What they did was fling destructive area effect spells on enemies armies to soften them up. A single well-aimed fireball could burn hundreds to death. But Ansel was different. He was a voidkin. Not only could he not afford to waste his limited mana for such a purpose, he never learned any powerful dark magic. Gadric never taught him, and Ansel himself never asked for it, either.

  “My role is to eliminate opposing mages,” he added. “I need to act independently. I do not need a big army but please grant me full authority.”

  “That’s a tall order…,” the count mumbled as his index tapping seized.

  A mage or not, giving a twelve years old full authority of an army? No sane person would grant such a request. Not even Gavin would do so. The mage next to him lowered his upper body to reach his ear and whispered some words.

  “Asvete, there will be a war council tonight. You are invited.”

  It was an indirect denial, and he wasn’t too surprised. When he joined Gaivn, he didn’t trust him to do anything on his own, either. It took time to showcase his abilities. But Gavin was a far more trusting type. Ansel wasn’t sure how easily the count would open up to him.

  “Understood.”

  “Retreat to your room. Page, guide him.”

  The boy was obediently waiting by the door a distance away. He acknowledged the count’s order politely with a light bow and waited for Ansel. Once again mimicking Wallace’s gesture of lowering his upper body slightly with a palm on his chest, he withdrew from the court room and was guided to his room which wasn’t much better than the guest room he used to stay at the Durrell manor. Bowing, the page left the room.

  “Let’s see…”

  The rolled world map and the linen covered chunk of cheese as well as alicorn were leaning in the corner of the room. Uncovering the cheese, he sliced a small piece of it with a defensive dagger on his waist and took a bite once he laid down on the bed. The quest room was on the first floor, so the view through the only window wasn’t great. Pulling one arm under his head and holding the piece of cheese in the other hand, he rested.

  “Wow, I have nothing to do. It’s been a while,” he remarked.

  “...........”

  A period of long silence passed.

  “I wonder how they are doing right now…”

  Finnic would have found out that he was gone for good, and so did Isabel. The gap left by him, they would need to fill in somehow.

  “I am sure that they will do just fine.”

  ………………………….

  ……………………

  ……………….

  His eyes opened in a rush when he heard knocking. His eyes darted around as if trying to make sense of where he was.

  “Right…, I am in the count’s manor…,” he whispered to himself. Then he heard knocking once more. Looking out the window, he saw a deep twilight sky. He must have fallen asleep.

  “Yes?”

  “Dinner is here, master Asvete.”

  It was the page’s voice.

  “Come in.”

  The boy was carrying a plate with some loaves of bread and a bowl of what looked like meaty stew. Finally, there was a wooden mug with water in it.

  “Thank you.”

  Ansel took the plate over for him and placed it on a desk in the room. The boy, bowing, withdrew from the room at once. The boy was awfully well disciplined. He spoke only when absolutely necessary and even then he spoke only absolutely required words. He was very much like him.

  “Glad I am not the only one.”

  As he dug in, he found the bread very soft. This was a freshly baked one that was probably not even a day old.

  “Hell, given how warm it is, I dare say that this was baked an hour ago at the most.”

  He rarely had an opportunity to eat such freshly baked bread, and it was indeed shockingly nice. It felt like it was melting in his mouth. The meat stew was good as well with many meat pieces. The count wasn’t cheap on food at least. By the time he was done with his meal, it was quite dark outside, and another knocking was heard. He thought that the boy had come to pick up the plate but he was proven wrong. A fair of guards was present at his doorstep.

  “The count has asked us to accompany you to the meeting,” one of them declared.

  “Right, let’s go then.”

  Where they led him was downstairs, the basement. Damp air embraced him as they walked down. The passageway they were walking was dimly lit as well. He was escorted by a pair of guards. One was walking in front of him. The other was walking behind him. The stony passageway was wide enough for two people to walk at once. He had a weird feeling that they were escorting him to jail instead of a meeting room. As they walked, at one point, he felt an unseen presence. Just like mages could sense a voidkin in close proximity, he could do the same except that his range was a bit wider. This was something he learned after being with Gadric for a prolonged time although he never told him that he had such an ability. Even with his eyes closed, he could vaguely locate beings that had mana. This was such a case where he was sensing a being with mana closing in. Glancing around, he saw nobody, meaning whoever it was, he or she was using concealment magic. Given where they were, this was probably the work of a black mage. In his mind vision, there was a ball of dark yellow orb zig zagging its way toward him.

  I am the target?

  Assassination came to his mind. Gadric did tell him that black mages became assassins frequently due to how powerful the shadow spell was. The big question was why. It wasn’t as if he ever tried to change sides. Narrowing his eyes at once, he concentrated on detecting the mana blob. It was closing it step by step as he and the guards walked forward slowly. At one point, there was a fancy door with the count’s mage standing in front.

  “Welcome, Asvete. I apologize for this rather gloomy setup, but this war council must be under utmost secrecy.”

  He was confused. He was not apparently being taken to jail. Then who was this person approaching him?

  It’s almost here within a touching range.

  “We are actually waiting for another mage to show up -”

  But he wasn’t hearing any of that. He was on full alert. Turning around to the direction of the target, he reached out, coming in contact with whoever it was. Then -

  “KKKKYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

  An ear-piercing scream was heard. Apparently, he managed to grab the shoulder of this person. A woman’s figure appeared at once, convulsing uncontrollably with her eyes rolled up, showing only whites. Her scream quickly died off, but she was uncontrollably and unhealthily convulsing as if she had no control of her own body.

  “STOP ASVETE!” The mage bellowed.

  Her shoulder length blond hair was extremely disheveled, frizzy, and stood on end. And soon he could smell urine as well as the pungent smell of feces. Gadric was right. This wasn’t a pleasant scene to watch or even be involved in. He attempted to take his hand off, but it felt stuck as if an iron stick was attached to a strong rare earth magnet.

  “I can’t take my hand off!”

  He could sense a very large quantity of mana flowing inside of him. Unlike Gadric’s mana, this one felt lukewarm.

  “NOOOO! Nuala!” The count’s mage dashed forward. “Guards! Stop him!”

  Unsure of what to do, one of them attempted to get in their way and tried to separate them.

  “They won’t budge!” he exclaimed.

  A very large amount of mana was flowing into him. The amount was nothing like Gadric supplied to him via spells. It was as if a dam was destroyed and a river was freely flowing. He pulled back as hard as he could, but his hand was completely glued to her shoulder. Only when her mana was completely absorbed, she was finally let go. Bubbling from her mouth, this woman, apparently Nuala, collapsed on the spot where her urine and feces lingered. She was still convulsing weakly.

  Not a pretty sight indeed…

  “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” The count’s mage barked. He couldn’t really approach the scene since he, too, was vulnerable to Ansel’s absorption.

  “I sensed a concealed being approaching me. I simply acted defensively,” Ansel defended himself.

  “Oh my word, Nuala… Guards! Take her to the infirmary at once! I will take over here.”

  “Yes, Master Stialia!”

  His last name was apparently Stialia. The guards carried the woman, Nuala, away swiftly although her urine and feces remained. Both hands on waist, the mage shook his head repeatedly.

  “Logically speaking, this wasn’t entirely your fault,” he said. “But Nuala is … or was an important mage for us.”

  “I am sorry.” He was staring at his palm which touched her shoulder. He absorbed so much mana.

  So, a mage destroyer indeed…

  Once he touched a mage, that was it. There would be no escape. He may not be able to freely cast spells, but his very existence was a real threat to mages. He finally realized this with this experience.

  “I felt like she was targeting me,” he added.

  “Spare the thought. The woman loves sneaking upon others. I guess she finally learned her lesson tonight… More importantly…, I am unsure what to tell the count right now.”

  Both sighed. Knowing Tristan, he was going to be livid indeed.

  What have I done?